


Enthralled and enthralling

by Anderseeds



Series: Hellsing works [5]
Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Millenium, Frottage, Lingerie, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22610695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Anderseeds
Summary: Anderson wasn’t a secretive man. He had an open-door policy regarding his room, he submitted himself to observation by Iscariot, and he did confession every fortnight. He’d always felt being honest and accessible was an important part of being a priest.But he did have a secret. Just one.Anderson has a thing for wearing lingerie. Alucard is overjoyed to find this out.
Relationships: Alucard/Alexander Anderson
Series: Hellsing works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622206
Comments: 15
Kudos: 133





	Enthralled and enthralling

Anderson wasn’t a secretive man. He had an open-door policy regarding his room, he submitted himself to observation by Iscariot, and he did confession every fortnight. He’d always felt being honest and accessible was an important part of being a priest.

But he did have a secret. Just one. Not an egregious sin that would get him defrocked and kicked out of the church, but it was one that would have social repercussions were anyone to find out, and no doubt he'd be told to cease by his superiors.

It had started when he was a boy. Maybe ten or eleven – he couldn’t remember exactly, but he vividly recalled the incident itself. He’d come upon an advertisement in one of the Father’s newspapers while doing dishes in the staff room. The advert had been for women’s underthings. He couldn't remember the exact details of the woman, but he could remember what she'd been wearing: white lacy panties and a matching bra that covered her breasts and rib cage. It’d been a beautiful, floral bra, not unlike a corset, but much more comfortable in appearance, and he'd thought it the most beautiful article of clothing he'd ever seen. When he'd gone to bed that night, he'd drifted off wondering why none of the undergarments for men he’d seen looked nearly as pretty.

He’d found out, as he’d grown older, that men's clothing was plain because men weren’t allowed to look pretty. Not unless they were ‘drag queens’, and those people were so looked down upon by society that becoming a drag queen wasn’t something for a little boy to aspire to. So Anderson suppressed his desires to be pretty and wore what was expected of him instead. Simple dress shirts, trousers and ties filled his wardrobe, and once he’d become a priest, that turned into cassocks and clergy gear. 

It wasn’t until years later, after he'd joined the staff of Ferdinant Luke's, that his interest was piqued again. He'd been assigned the task of purchasing clothes for the ladies of the orphanage and the standard clothes and underwear sections were - of course - close together. While he picked out skirts and shirts and pants for the girls, his gaze continually wandered to the lingerie section. He took small, furtive glances as he strode through the store, and it was entirely on a whim that he grabbed the largest size of some braziers and knickers and shoved them to the bottom of his pile. His face was entirely too red as the cashier ran each purchase under the scanner. By the time he was able to leave, he was stammering and sweaty and he almost fled without his change.

It took him two weeks to muster up the courage to put on the lingerie. In the dead of night, he set a full body mirror up in his room and cautiously pulled on the undergarments, giving his door periodic glances to make sure there weren't any prying eyes. The children knew not to disturb him at night unless it was an emergency, but he still feared an interruption. Enough so that he hung his cassock coat over his shoulders before looking in the mirror.

The lingerie was a touch too small for him, squeezing uncomfortably against his olive skin, and yet- the sight was breathtaking. He looked pretty. Broad-shouldered, muscular, and still somehow pretty. They felt as good as they looked, delightfully soft despite their squeeze, and his face reddened as he dragged his fingers over the floral patterns expertly woven into the fabric.

It was arousing, to some extent; something which prompted guilt, but most of all, he just liked how they looked. He thought this might be how some men felt after putting on a tailored suit. He’d never worn tailored clothes and likely never would, so the lingerie was as close as he was going to get to that experience.

That was the first set of lingerie he ever owned. By the year nineteen ninety-nine, he’d come to own a little over thirty, all tucked into the deepest depths of his closet, hidden in a box. He didn’t wear them often. It seemed disrespectful to put them on while in church or operating the orphanage, so the only time he ventured out in his collection was during jobs. It was enough to keep him satiated.

When he was called in for a job in Ireland, he prepared as he always did:

He removed the long, black cassock he wore around the orphanage and selected a lingerie ensemble from his closet. Just some nice, white panties hemmed with floral patterns, a corset-style brazier that was tight enough to hug his pecs, and a beautiful pair of stockings that ended mid-way up his thighs. He carefully pulled them on, taking time to admire the stark contrast between the white fabric and his browned skin before he finished by hooking the garter straps to the stockings. Next, he retrieved his combat clothes. 

The trousers, clergy jacket, and grey coat-cassock were slipped over top, obscuring every inch of his undergarments, as any good outer clothing should. He made sure his shirt was tucked into his trousers before heading out to catch his plane.

No matter how often he wore his lingerie, he never tired of the rub of it against his skin. The stockings were especially pleasant, stretched over a wide expanse of muscle as they were, and he liked to cross his legs at the ankles and marvel at how soft his skin felt while encased in silk. The Vatican spared little expense in his transport, so there was always enough leg room in the plane or vehicle to facilitate this. He’d always thought it a little excessive... but he wasn’t inclined to complain about the extra leg room, given how tall he was, and how much he liked being able to extend his legs.

White lingerie suited him best. He’d tried all spectrum of colours, but nothing stood out on him quite like white did. It brought out the warmth of his skin, enhanced the curves of his muscle, and softened the sharp edges of his various dips and rises. When the light hit it, it almost seemed luminescent. He’d lost count of how many times he’d stood before a mirror and turned in a slow circle to admire the way the light caught his stockings.

There was unlikely to be an opportunity to get a good look at himself today, but he wasn’t fussed; he would be given an overnight job eventually and then he would have time to spare for a proper indulgence.

His destination was an old, long abandoned malthouse on the outskirts of Ireland. A vampire was said to have holed himself up there with a horde of ghouls. A fledgling of the last vampire that had been found in Ireland, most likely. They had managed to get in a good few bites before being dispatched.

The frigid night air misted Anderson’s breath as he stepped in through a back entrance. Despite his size, his footsteps didn’t make a sound, and any whisper of a presence could easily be attributed to the lashing, winter winds. The ghouls weren’t nearly as discreet. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps into the malthouse before his ears caught the sound of shambling bodies. A writhing mass of ghouls was undoubtedly what awaited him in at the far end of the hallway, and hopefully the vampire would be found somewhere among them, since Anderson didn’t fancy a game of hide and seek. There was only so much enjoyment one could get from searching for ones quarry.

He drew his bayonets from his sleeves and curled his fingers tight around the chilled handles. The first few ghouls emerged from the dark. He threw his bayonets at them and struck three in the head, who toppled over and alerted their brethren of an intruder. Anderson met the rush of opponents with unbridled enthusiasm, tearing his way through the mob with great swings of his bayonets. They were paltry opponents, easy to fell, so it wasn't long before he had made a path into the room they were crowded inside.

Through the smothering dark, he could just about see the outline of his target standing against a wall, fumbling something out of his jacket. What that was became apparent when a spray of bullets slammed into his stomach and chest. Anderson was driven back a few feet. He did not, however, fall, and the man didn’t seem to realise he was still alive because he barked out a relieved laugh.

The bullets fell from his skin, ejected by his regenerative abilities. “What’re you laughing at?” he asked, folding his hands over his knees to rise back to his full height. A few ghouls had ventured closer, so he dispatched them with a twirl of a bayonet, severing their heads from their bodies. 

The vampire cried out in alarm. “What the fuck? Why’re you still-?” He backed up, making a fumbling attempt at re-filling his bullet chamber. His fingers were shaking. Even in the dark, Anderson could tell as much. “I’m sure I shot you!”

“You did.” It was Anderson's turn to laugh. “But vampires aren’t the only ones who can shake off a few bullets.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?” his quarry cried, voice shrill with panic.

To the vampires left was a window with moonlight peeking out from around a curtain. Anderson threw one bayonet to remove the curtain, and another at the vampire’s hand, aiming to disarm him. Both barrelled smoothly into their targets and light sprayed across the room, unveiling a filthy, derelict setting with abandoned malting equipment and bodies strewn across the concrete floor. Some of the corpses belonged to the ghouls Anderson had felled, but to his disgust, some were humans that had been unfortunate enough to fall into the vampires hands, and he hadn’t turned them; he’d eaten them, taken big chunks out of their bodies and thrown them aside when he’d bored of their flavour.

He raised his bayonets in preparation to strike down the vampire, who had begun to run for the closest exit upon being disarmed. They managed a pitiful three steps before being struck down. Not by Anderson, but by a familiar, red-coated arm that slammed through their chest so violently that it rendered their heart ribbons of flesh. They managed little more than a few gargling sounds before bursting. His ghouls turned to dust.

Anderson didn’t lower his weapons. “That was _mine_.”

“Was it?” said Alucard, voice pleasant. “Not something I would voluntarily take ownership of. What a disgusting little punk.” He nudged the remains of a body with the toe of his boot. “Taking bites out of humans and simply leaving them on the floor. What a mess.”

Anderson ground his molars, the sound audible. If he ever had issues with high blood pressure it would be the fault of this man. “You’re trying to gall me.” And it was working. He stepped closer, casting Alucard a furious, wild-eyed look. “This is Catholic territory, freak. Just like before, I had it in hand. You weren’t needed.”

“You don’t even know how long I watched you,” said Alucard, wearing a shark-toothed grin. An infuriating expression.

“So you were just waiting for an opportunity to steal my kill?” Anderson fell into a fighting stance, sliding his bayonets into cross formation. “You’ll just have to make up for it with yourself.”

“Gladly,” Alucard purred. He was far too pleased with the arrangement, but that came as no surprise by now. Anderson’s own excitement spiked at the prospect of fighting Alucard, so he was in no position to talk.

He didn’t hesitate to go barrelling at Alucard. Leaping steps took him across the room in seconds. He held his bayonets aloft, ready to slam them hard into Alucard’s chest and deep into his heart, but a bullet caught him in the clavicle just prior to his strike. As he stumbled back, all he managed to inflict on Alucard were two shallow cuts on his arm and chest, both of which healed before Anderson could try to make them deeper.

He flung a bayonet instead and it struck Alucard hard enough in the chest to propel him into a wall. The few seconds it took for him to yank it out was time enough for Anderson to follow him into the corner he’d fallen into, moving to secure him there with a barrage of bayonets. Alucard flew out of the way just before it could hit, but he had to forfeit a chunk of flesh from his thigh and forearm in order to make his escape. Aware of his regenerative ability, Anderson took the time to kick the flesh out of the way before it could reunite with its owner, sending it flying to the far opposite end of the room.

“Aren’t you astute,” remarked Alucard, laughing.

“I’ll cut you down before you can heal.”

“You can try.” Alucard displayed a feral grin, gums visible. “I welcome the attempt!”

The battle was quick to destroy the already ravaged room, leaving it with bayonets and bullet holes in its every wall. The structure groaned under their assault and it would undoubtedly collapse if they continued too long. Something Alucard didn’t have to worry about, but Anderson did, so his attention was momentarily shifted when the walls gave a tell-tale shudder and dust burst from the ceiling. That brief distraction was long enough for Alucard to pop off two bullets, one of which slammed into his chest, shattering four of his ribs and piercing his left lung, while the other just missed his thigh, instead tearing through the fabric of his trousers.

Anderson faltered at the sensation of air on his leg. 

“Priest, is that..." Alucard looked to be doing some faltering himself. "Are you wearing-?”

Flustered, Anderson threw another barrage of bayonets at him, poorly aimed, and hastened to cover his thigh with his cassock. Even through the dark, he could see Alucard’s shot had ripped open his trousers just below his hip, leaving his garter belt and stocking on full display. It was time to retreat. Something he loathed to do, but the building _did_ look about ready to collapse and he could hardly continue fighting with his clothes hanging off him.

He fumbled for his bible while wracking his brain for somewhere in the city he could go for a change of clothes. There was unlikely to be any clothing stores open at this time of night, so- donation bins? If he left a monetary donation as compensation, he was sure the collectors would understand.

Pain erupted in the small of his spine before he could make his escape. He collapsed, momentarily paralysed, just beyond the building, his bible flying out of his hand and cheek slamming hard into the ground. All injuries would heal within a few seconds, a minute at most, but this was long enough for Alucard to wrench his arms behind his back and pin them in place with a coil of shadows.

“Alucard,” he snarled, spitting out grass and dirt and bucking as his severed nerves healed over. “You have seconds before-!”

The barrel of the Casull was slipped to the small of his back and a bullet shattered his spine yet again. There were just enough surviving nerves for Anderson to writhe, but not much more than that. He took comfort in the fact that, the moment Alucard had to change his chamber, there was little hope of him escaping this ordeal without Anderson flipping over and shoving Alucard’s own gun down his throat.

“What are you hiding under here, priest?” Alucard’s voice was that of a man well aware of what he was about to unveil. His hands slipped deftly beneath Anderson’s cassock, flipping it aside, and then worked at his belt buckle.

“Get off,” Anderson ground out. Difficult, considering the state of his nervous system.

Alucard yanked the belt out of the way, bunched his trousers around his thighs, and gave a cackling sort of laugh. “Oh ho.” He grabbed one of Anderson’s fallen blades and proceeded to ravage the remaining fabric. “I think I’m about to, priest.”

Anderson could barely hear him over the rush of blood in his ears. His face had turned completely red. “About to _what_?”

“Get off.”

“So you’ve accepted the inevitability,” he snapped back.

Alucard burst into laughter. “Oh, virgins! They’re always so amusing!” Alucard’s fingers grazed Anderson’s thigh, trailing down the length of his leg. Gentle enough that there was no threat of the fabric being broken, but hard enough for Anderson to feel the journey of his hand. “I mean _sexually_ , Judas priest." He pinched a stocking between his thumb and forefinger, letting it snap back against Anderson's skin. "I'm sure I could get you to enthusiastically go along.”

Spluttering, Anderson kicked his legs in an attempt to dislodge Alucard, but the man bore his shadows down against his back to keep him secured to the ground- for the moment, at least. Anderson could escape. Just a second or two and he would be throttling the arrogance out of him.

“You're so very pretty, Anderson,” Alucard purred, and that briefly stole the fight out of Anderson.

It was the first he’d ever heard the word directed at him outside his own thoughts. ‘Handsome’ had been extended to him once, before he’d received the wedge of a scar and before being ordained, but nothing else, and certainly not _pretty_. Even if he hadn't had the scar, people weren’t comfortable complimenting the physical appearance of a priest. Alucard, of course, had no such moral impediment.

The words felt good to hear. Better even than the lingerie itself.

“You’re making fun of me,” Anderson said, voice breathy, and even as he said this it didn’t detract from how much he _liked_ hearing it. Particularly from Alucard, and he didn’t want to pick apart why that was right now. He didn't want to admit the man may have been right in his assessment of Anderson's resolve.

Alucard clearly noticed the effect the words had on Anderson, since he leaned down to whisper in his ear. “You really are pretty like this, priest. It’s truly a tragedy you feel you have to hide this from people. From me.”

Anderson swallowed, his throat tight. When he kicked his legs again, he unbalanced Alucard enough to wrench himself free and roll onto his back. He didn’t attempt to slam Alucard’s gun down his throat as he’d intended. He didn't try to remove him at all. He just glared at him, uneasy.

“No one will believe you if you tell anyone.” He slipped a bayonet into hand, casting his eyes over his ruined trousers. Without them, it was going to be even more difficult to discreetly find himself another pair. “And if I catch wind of you trying, we’ll have a much longer, less pleasant repeat of our first encounter. You hear me?”

“I’m not inclined to share such a lovely detail of my beloved nemesis with anyone else.” Alucard planted his hands on Anderson's chest, steadying himself. “You’ve never had anyone admire you before, have you? It would be a terrible shame for that to persist.”

Anderson opened his mouth, and then closed it, flustered. The man had too good a read on him.

“Let me indulge for a while.” Alucard leaned over him, shifting so his knees were closed around Anderson’s thighs and his hands were sliding smoothly up his abdomen, reaching for the buttons of his clerical jacket. Anderson’s grip on his bayonet tightened. “Or is letting me out of the question? Do you need plausible deniability? It would be my pleasure to create that for you, Anderson.” He ran his long, red tongue across his pointed canines. “I have weapons at my disposal to restrain pretty things like you.”

His answer came in the form of a bayonet through Alucard’s throat. A laugh gurgled out of him, and he made no attempt to remove it before his void stretched over Anderson, curling around his arms and legs like a vice.

Anderson could have wrenched himself free. There was little that could stop him in his tracks for long, but he gave a few token efforts instead, played his part, because he wanted what Alucard was offering. Wasn’t ready to verbalise that, but he did. He wanted someone to appreciate him the way pretty things were _meant_ to be appreciated, and he hated himself for that, for his weakness.

Alucard tore the bayonet from his neck and threw it aside. “I so love the pious beneath me.” He popped free the first button on Anderson’s clerical jacket, then the next, reaching beneath to deftly undo the shirt. “Particularly when they look this delectable. You’ve dressed so lovely for me.”

“For myself,” he ground out, straining against his bindings.

“Not right now, you aren’t.” He parted the shirt and jacket to unveil the corset-bra that fit snugly against Anderson’s chest. His expression, somehow, became even more lurid. “My, my, you found one that fit you perfectly. I suppose being muscular helps.” Reaching up, he slid his thumbs beneath the cups, over the curve of Anderson’s pecs. His shadows coiled restlessly against Anderson’s calves and forearms. “You’re well-endowed in the chest, for a man.”

“I _will_ kill you,” said Anderson, jaw tight.

Alucard chuckled. “I say that with great appreciation. I find strength a fine feature in men.” His shadows freed Anderson’s feet from his shoes and Alucard sat back, arranging Anderson’s legs so they were draped over his lap. “Visually and otherwise,” he finished with a sharp smile, his palms gliding along the sheer of Anderson’s stockings.

Anderson looked down at himself, paying particular attention to how stark his legs were against the black of Alucard's trousers, and swallowed hard. His cock swelled in their flimsy confinement. A highly visible thing, which would have prompted Anderson to lift his knees were the shadows not keeping them firmly in place. He was being pinned down for examination, touched delicately, admired, so some arousal was inevitable, and so was shame. It'd taken so little for Alucard to persuade him into this. There would need to be a confession of some sort – perhaps sans the finer details – for Anderson to be able to consolidate his need for this with his religious propriety.

Alucard made no effort to hide the journey of his gaze. It started just above Anderson’s clavicle and dragged slowly down, flittering over the rise of his chest and the stretch of white covering it, down the outline of his abdominals, across to the jut of his hips, and then it lingered on the evidence of his arousal. There was a moments pause before he laid his gloved fingers delicately over the bulge, eliciting a gasp. Even that slight contact was startling to one who had never participated in any kind of intimacy before. Anderson rarely even masturbated, and the few times he had it’d been a short and perfunctory affair, usually for something embarrassing like a laboratory test for sterility (it turned out one couldn’t undergo the Regenerative procedure without forfeiting the ability to have children). The heat that flushed through him was dizzying in its intensity. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Alucard, embarrassed as he was, so he instead watched those nimble fingers trace the outline of his arousal.

“Sensitive, aren’t you.” Alucard curled a finger beneath the lace of his underwear, teasing at pulling it down. Anderson’s breath hitched a little in anticipation, much to his embarrassment. “You can shout and cry, out here. No one will hear you.”

That sounded simultaneously threatening and erotic. Anderson wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but he was deprived of the ability to speak anyway when Alucard drew his lacy underwear down and curled a hand around his cock. It was a gentle grip, yet more than enough to pull a moan from Anderson. He really was terribly, terribly sensitive. Every touch sent his nerves singing. 

Alucard began to stroke, and the glove was smooth enough – unnaturally so – that there was no resistance in the slide, just a wonderful friction that drove all comprehensive thought from Anderson’s mind. His hips involuntarily rose into the chill of Alucard’s palm. They couldn’t rise far while he was enveloped by the shadows and he had to consciously bite back a whine.

“We haven’t even gotten started, Anderson,” Alucard murmured. “Settle down.”

“I- am settled,” he shot back, which probably would have been more convincing were his voice not so breathy.

Lips curling into a sharp smile, Alucard reached between his own legs to unzip himself and curl a fist around his own cock. It was large. Well beyond average, and Anderson was sure the vain bastard had made it so with that malleable body of his. He aligned it with Anderson’s cock and wrapped his fingers firm around both, resuming a steady stroke. Those careful strokes were enough to make Anderson shudder on their own, but he was throwing his head back and shivering and tensing all his limbs when Alucard added in a periodic squeeze to the heads of their cocks, applying pressure to the sensitive ridge of them. He could have cried for how _good_ it felt. He’d never known anything _could_ feel this good.

Alucard leaned over him, bore down upon him, applying his mouth to Anderson’s clavicle and throat and jaw, and Anderson twisted against his restraints, every touch electrifying in its intensity. He felt hot, hypersensitive, overwhelmed, and it’d been so easy to bring him to that point. All those decades of chastity and self-control and he exhibited exactly none once in the deep of intimacy. The strokes remained at a steady and fulfilling pace, gradually drawing Anderson toward climax. There was an expertise in Alucard’s touch that prevented him from finishing too soon.

He threw his head back as Alucard’s tongue dipped under his jaw, against his fluttering pulse, and he must have been quite a sight with how dishevelled and red-faced he was, wearing lingerie to boot. He almost wished he could see himself. A terrible, shameful thought, but he wasn’t having very many reasonable ones at this period.

“Beautiful,” Alucard murmured against his skin, lightly applying a scrape of teeth to the sharp curve of his jaw. His bow tie brushed over the lace of Anderson’s lovely white brazier. “Were I a less patient man, I’d fuck you right here.”

Anderson almost told him he could. He hadn’t enough functionality to produce an intelligible plea, thankfully.

Alucard’s free hand slipped around his waist and drew him up until they were hip to hip, cocks grinding hard together, prompting Anderson's fingers and toes to curl. Their mouths met for a hot, wet kiss as Anderson’s pleasure surged toward his finish, and Alucard’s tongue roved over his teeth and hard palate while Anderson moaned and shuddered against him. When Anderson reached completion, it was abrupt, hard, and left come pooling in Alucard's palm, which Alucard promptly used to resume a smoother stroke.

Climax had left him hypersensitive and shaking and he let out a little, muffled sob at the continued application of Alucard's skilful fingers. It was through glassy eyes that he watched Alucard’s hand work between them, watched his lacy underwear catch between their cocks and his garters strain over his thighs, watched his stockings gleam under the moonlight. Apparently he had little refractory period to speak of, since the sight was enough to have him hardening again.

Alucard laughed softly. “I see once won’t satiate you.”

It didn’t take long for Alucard to bring him to orgasm a second time, and this time he was joined by Alucard, who hunched over him and tore his teeth into his shoulder and shuddered through his own finish. Those sharp, broad teeth being embedded deep into his muscle hurt, but concurrent with the orgasm, it was good- good in a way Anderson never thought pain could be, so he cried out in just as much pleasure as he did pain. 

Completion brought with it exhaustion. The shuddering ceased and the winding down began.

Alucard's serrated teeth slipped free of his shoulder and he placed his forehead on Anderson’s chest. No sweat, because Alucard didn’t have the biological capacity for it, but he was slightly warmer than he had been when they’d begun, and the lack of concentration on maintaining a consistent form had rendered his hair a writhing mass.

Miraculously, they had managed to avoid sullying anything but Alucard’s glove. Alucard closed his fist around the spill and it was clean when he unfurled his fingers to carefully tuck Anderson’s flaccid cock back into his underwear. The shadows that were twisted around Anderson’s arms and legs withdrew.

Anderson slumped into the grass, dazed and warm. He should have been cold and uncomfortable given his location, the time of night, and his lack of clothing, but he might have fallen asleep there if not for Alucard's busy hands keeping him awake. Anderson was in no state to dress himself, so Alucard was doing it for him.

“You’re very sweet, like this,” Alucard murmured, watching him through half-lidded eyes. He was making quick work of Anderson’s buttons. Quite the feat considering how many of them there were. “Warm and pliable.”

Anderson regarded him drowsily. “I wouldn’t get used to it, vampire.”

Alucard gave him a wry smile. “As much as I’d like to indulge in this to excess, I am capable of recognising when I should employ restraint.”

“You have the capacity for restraint?”

“I’ll concede that a little surprise is reasonable.” Alucard drew back onto his knees and adjusted his own, slightly unkempt clothes. He didn’t _need_ to do it manually, but it seemed to be one of the few human habits that he hadn’t managed to kick completely.

“A lot,” Anderson corrected, letting his eyes fall shut.

Alucard danced his fingers over Anderson’s stockings, his touch idle. “No point in arguing with you, is there? You’re obstinate about everything.”

“I ought to be, where you’re concerned,” he murmured, a smile slithering onto his lips. “Especially after you ruined my pants.”

“I wouldn’t have had to had you voluntarily shown me the lovely sight hidden beneath.”

Anderson scoffed. “Flattery won’t make me less annoyed with you.”

“It seems to have worked perfectly well thus far.”

This was an unusually peaceful moment for them. So, it only made sense that while they were lying in the grass together, the malthouse proceeded to collapse a few feet from them. They didn’t stick around the location long after that.

Anderson was fortunate enough to come upon a charity bin within his first hour of searching. Finding a pair of pants that fit him, however, proved far more difficult, and he ended up wearing trousers that didn’t quite cover his ankles. Renaldo had the decency not to comment when it came time to fly him back to Rome.

The following morning, he did confession, accepted as severe penance as he could acquire, and he felt moderately more at ease for the rest of the day. The penance had been assigned for the course of a month and perhaps by the end of it all the sweat and blood shed in contrition would make up for the blemish on his vow of chastity. Not entirely, not when the memory of the incident warmed him when he thought of it, not when he didn’t regret it entirely, but it would at least alleviate some of the guilt.

* * *

The following week, he found a parcel sitting on his bed. Not entirely surprising, since the Mother’s regularly deposited his mail in his room, but he hadn’t been expecting a parcel and Iscariot usually warned him before they sent something. He checked every side of it for a return address and found nothing. No hint as to who it could be from. Frowning, he slowly peeled the masking tape away, parted the top flaps, and stared at the contents.

Lingerie. From sight alone, he could tell there were at least five, maybe more, all beautiful and white. He couldn’t help himself; he drew one out and turned it over in his hands, marvelling at the fine craftsmanship. They were absolutely stunning and perfectly sized for his body. Alucard had-

Alucard had bought him _tailor made_ lingerie. Nothing store bought could look this good.

He carefully shoved the one he’d grabbed back into the box, face red right up to the ears, and gnawed at the corner of his lips.

Another month of penance. He thought that a fair trade for the opportunity to wear offerings provided by his nemesis.


End file.
